The following section of Whatcom County Remembered was written by one of our lovely clients Karol Weston in regards to their farm it’s history with the late Elizabeth Carey (Rich’s Mother) and her family…

Elizabeth Carey’s family started the farm adventure in the year 1916 for 2 years. Her family consisted of 6 brothers and 2 sisters and both parents. Elizabeth shared that she was the age of about 6 to 8 at the time, but had lovely memories of the farm. The family rented the farm from Mr. Robertson who at the time wished to sell and return to Russia. Her father was a Marine Draftsman and was short on funds and could not purchase the whole farm and instead just rented.

The farm has the same exciting house, garage and stone house as still stands today, long gone are the chicken coops and greenhouse which once stood there as well. The farm was surrounded with evergreens from the North, East and South. Everywhere you turned was trees. 32nd St was just a skid road for logging, which consisted of a path with gates that had to be opened and shut as you drove a horse and wagon down the road. The main route out of the farm was Douglas St, weaving around toward 24th St and into Fairhaven on a rough path.

Mr. Carey and his sons delivered produce daily on a route throughout the Southside of Bellingham. What they didn’t sell by the end of the day they would venture to downtown Bellingham to sell or to the Fair Market. The Holiday Meat & Grocery on 20th and Harris would also purchase their produce and sell it in their store.

On the farm they raised strawberries, raspberries, loganberries, parsnip, spinach and much more…. The stone house they used as a cooler for storage of their produce. The water supply to the farm for irrigating was supplied by the creek flowing above 32nd St from the upper Samish Hill area. The water would flow into a reservoir and then was gravity fed by a pipe to the garden area. The watering system ran along the top of the garden and would flow into the long overhead pipe sprinkling system which is still used today…. the pipes maybe still used today, but gone or some of the old problems which once disrupted it….

Elizabeth recalls on day in early October when her father noticed that the irrigation water flowing was brown and muddy. This was unusual so up to the reservoir he went. His first thoughts were that some kids where playing in the water, boy was he shocked when he realized that it was not kids, but instead two black bears frolicking in the reservoir. The walls where then built up higher to keep the bears out and the water clean.

After two years the family could no longer rent the farm. The farm was purchased in 1933 by Joe and Ann Bertero , carrying on the business of growing vegetables. The Stone houses, house and garage still stand today just as they did in Elizabeth’s time. New greenhouses have been replaced by new owners and the farm’s deep roots just keep growing. In Karol Weston took over the farm, then in 2007 the Weston Brothers. The Weston brother’s now share the pleasure of working the farm and growing for a better and healthier tomorrow.

Last Thursday morning I opened my Herald to the large black headline “Fountain Galleria to close.” My audible response was: “How can that be, I was just there yesterday?” The Fountain District has been one of the anchor points of my life since March of 1951, 57 years, when my husband and I moved into our new home on East Maplewood Ave.

Those anchors have been the Fountain Drugstore, George’s Meat Market, Hall’s Bakery, Fountain Motors, Fountain Hardware, and Griffith Furniture. Each having dependable services, hard to find anywhere else.

The Fountain Drugstore in 1951 was a small sort of variety store, with a drug department. For years all of our drug needs were met there. It even carried clothing. One of my favorite pictures of my son was taken in 1956, plodding up our driveway in an adoreable red jumpsuit, a gift from his Godmother, from the Fountain. Everyone asked where it came from, it was a new thing. At this time the store was located next to George’s Meat Market in the building next door to the present parking lot. Whatever you needed, everyone used to say “you’ll find it at the Fountain,” be it some sewing notion, small hardware items, candles, gifts, baking dishes; you name it, it was there. Then they expanded, building the present building. Again, the saying was true.

After expanding, during the Christmas Season there was a sleigh in the basement complete with a real, live, well-dressed Santa Claus. Another special memory: My son had arrived at the age in the 1961 Christmas Season when Santa was very questionable to him. One Saturday we were shopping at George’s Meat Market, and as we came out the door a car was parking across the street. The door opened and Santa got out of the car, beautifully groomed, and headed for the Fountain Drugstore. When he saw my son, he waved and yelled, “Hi Chuck.” Chuck WAS impressed, Santa remained a reality that year. Santa knew him because his kids went to Parkview School too.

The Fountain has grown constantly over the years in their offerings. Want to learn to decorate a cake? The Fountain. The best in baking equipment? The Fountain. Cards for special occasions? The Fountain. Lovely gifts of all kinds, handbags, jewelry, chimes, Christmas decorations, toys, etc., etc., etc. It has been my tradition to give my great nieces and nephew a Christmas ornament each year. Where do they generally come from? The Fountain. Where else would you find a crystal motorcycle the year the nephew added a motorcycle to his life, or a mandolin, guitar, drum, etc., when he was in a band? The Fountain.

That is why last Wednesday I stopped there for a candle, a certain color and texture. Had been to several other places and found that no one carried candles anymore. I also picked up a Valentine. As I stood at the checkout stand, a young friend with small children came up beside me. I commented, “This is the store that has everything you can’t find anyplace else.” She commented: “Their toys are wonderful.”

How else could I respond the next morning when I read, “Fountain Galleria is closing”?

When I saw my young friend in church, Sunday, I commented on this fact. She hadn’t read the paper. Her response, “Oh, they have such wonderful toys!”

Only the name has changed, “Fountain Galleria,” they have always given excellent service and products. For me it is not the end of a chapter, along with the demise of several of the other anchors in the Fountain District, it is the end of an era.

Geneil Chevalier

This journey began in earnest about 8 years ago, after having been mentioned at various times prior to the time of actually beginning. A special committee has been working diligently investigating all of the ramifications involved: location, parking, public input, cost, etc., etc. Now they have come to the place where they appear to be ready to say to the community, “Here it is, are you willing to accept the proposal?”

My mind began thinking of the libraries that have met my needs since I was a little girl of about 5 when the library stood high on a rock across from the Mt. Baker Theater. I called the archives at the Museum and learned some interesting facts:

The first library in the area was the Carnegie Library in Fairhaven, now the Fairhaven Library. It was built in 1904, the property a gift from the Larabee family which at that time owned a significant amount of property in Whatcom County. Property was a requirement before the great philanthropist would give the gift. It cost $12,500. The main library was on the upper floor, and the lower floor was a workman’s reading room for men to have some place to go other than saloons. There was a special entrance to this basement room since the men would come from work in their dirty clothes and were not considered appropriately groomed to come in the main entrance. That door is still there.

In 1908 another library was built on the high point at what is now where Champion and Commercial streets cross. Again the Carnegie Institute came through with the needed $20,000 after Pierre Cornwall, another large property owner, gave the gift of property.

It is this library that played such a distinctive role in my growing up years. It was interesting to learn it had originally been built on a high place, flat ground, but that as the city grew the hill kept getting shaved down until it became Champion and Commercial (1910 and 1926). When I began going to the library (1928), 57 steps were taken to the adult library, the children’s was reached after ascending 25 steps to the bottom floor. Mrs. Gilfilen was the children’s librarian, her daughter became my friend during high school.

Many things have run through my mind as I have absorbed all of this information. Obviously when the downtown library was built not much thought was given to the future of the City. I had always assumed there wasn’t much concern for handicap availability, but it would seem no thought was given to the City’s growth, it began on flat ground and ended with 57 steps. It also reminded me that those many years ago, ordinary citizen input didn’t exist. Our early history reveals that Bellingham and surrounding areas were controlled by the “Upper 400,” families of wealth and property, some of whom contributed lavishly to their community, but they ran the show. I remember the names: Larrabee, Bloedel, Donovan, Deming, Cornwall, Welch, Brooks, Loggie. These people were mostly involved in lumber and fishing. During many of these years the local newspaper was controlled by the Sefrit family, you never questioned which side they were on, there was always just one side; when KVOS Radio became a reality the voice of Rogan Jones gave the other side, but only that side. How interesting it used to be.

Fast forward to 2008: Our present library has been in use 57 years, having been paid for by the citizens of the community, built on the edge of the old City dump, a facility that has been used for many activities besides books. The population was probably about 37,000, now we have over 70,000. If this passes 10 years will have elapsed since the planning began, with input from anyone that chose to let their ideas be known. Not all could be chosen. It will cost $56.3M, paid for by all of us. Bellingham is high on the charts nationally for livability, etc. Our No.1 desire in any poll is to have good paying jobs. Companies with good paying jobs always measure the aesthetic qualities of a community prior to moving. I doubt that Bill Gates will pick us as a community which cannot take care of itself.

The “Good Old Days,” how often we hear how much better it was back then. I wonder about that. Now all of us are a part of the mix, good and bad; times have changed, we live in a time when numbers of homes are valued at over $1,000,000. How does $56.3 million for one new library and the refurbishing of a second compare to that? THE CHOICE WILL BE OURS!

Written By: Geneil Chevalier

“1800s-era landmark will house shops, million-dollar condos”/Trippo Costello and Mary Kink deceased. In my mind these headlines represented an obvious new era, the gradual updating of the Fairhaven district and a remembrance of the community I had known as I grew up and lived in over the past 80 years.

As the article stated today, the Fairhaven community had its heyday in the late 1800s; it was assumed it would be the San Francisco of this northern corner. It had a beautiful hotel, banks, shops and waterfront activity. There was a crash and all of this changed. Pacific American Fisheries (PAF) did grow and flourish at the foot of Harris St. becoming the largest fish cannery in the world, complete with a shipyard where their fishing fleet was docked during the winter for repairs in preparation for the next summer’s season in Alaska while maintaining fish traps in Bellingham Bay and Alaska. My father-in-law, Jim Chevalier I, was the Superintendent of the shipyard spending his summers on Liza Island until the 1930s maintaining the fish traps in the Bay. After his death in 1947 his son Jim Chevalier II filled that niche until PAF closed in 1964. During World War II Bellingham Shipyards set up an operation next to PAF, and after the war Uniflite became part of the mix a little further up Harris.

Other than the busyness at the bottom of Harris, Fairhaven was mostly a sleepy little village with many empty buildings, everything run down. Its renaissance began when Ken Imus arrived on the scene in the early 1970s. My husband grew up on Cowgill just above PAF. Tony’s Coffee Shop was Berthume’s Drugstore where Jack and I drank milkshakes at the ice-cream counter 67 years ago. The Train and Bus Depot are now located in the old PAF office building, with the Alaska ferry docking at the docks. A boardwalk skirts the Bay to Boulevard Park, then a trail on to the center of town. There are delightful little specialty shops, eateries, and the wonderful Village Book Store. Memorial Day weekend The Sea To Ski Race ends in Fairhaven, attracting hundreds of teams from all over the United States. There is a Village Green where special events take place including movies on an old brick wall. It is a fun place to explore.

Perhaps the greatest difference is the makeup of the people who live in the area. During my growing up years it was known as Little Yugoslavia., housing families with names like Costello, Kink, Mardesich, Kuljis, Evich, Glenovich, Zuanich, Mustappa, Muljat, etc. At that time they were the heart of the fishing fleet that fished Alaska waters as well as Bellingham Bay. In these names you will recognize teachers, politicians, real-estate companies, Port enthusiasts, even Santa Claus. They brought to our community a rich heritage.

Today a large segment of the population are condominium dwellers. What will their contribution/legacy be? It is a new era.

Geneil Chevalier

Remembering: BELLINGHAM POLICE CHIEF RETIRING

Wow! Sixteen years of memories came rushing into my mind when I opened this morning’s Herald. On November 10, 1971 I became a member of the Bellingham Police Department; I was hired to develop an administrative secretary’s position. There had never been such a position before, and I quickly became aware of that reality. The second week I was there I was asked to develop the presentation to the City Council for the 1972 budget. I asked for a copy of the previous year’s and there wasn’t one. The Chief and Assistant Chief just stood behind me and gave me the details. It only took a few hours to complete. In those days there was a real effort made to have money left at the end of the year to exhibit good management.

In November of 1975 Bellingham elected a new, young Mayor, Ken Hertz, who immediately announced that the Bellingham Police Department was going to be one of his top priorities. At that time they were just beginning to develop policies and procedures, just beginning to have any outside training, college training of any kind was not a necessity. I recall Sgt. Kveven telling me that when he came on the Department in 1965 that he had been handed a gun and put on the street. Training began later. When Mayor Hertz announced there would be a nationwide search, disbelief was the prevailing attitude. Whoever heard of such a thing. The final six were chosen and one Bellingham officer was on it, Harold Raymond. Everyone simply assumed he would get the nod, he was a very capable person.

I will never forget a gray, rainy May day when I was called to the front desk because there was a man by the name of Terry Mangan, one of the finalists, and he wanted to arrange riding with an officer. The front desk area was gray whether it was raining or not, with holes in the linoleum here and there. Why would anyone be interested in coming?

Terry Mangan was the choice, Harold Raymond came in second. July 1, 1976 Chief Terry Mangan arrived on the scene, a former priest turned Police Chief from southern California. The Bellingham Police Department made a 180 degree turn; Harold Raymond’s gifts of developing policies and procedures went into high gear, training was immediate, budgets took months to prepare and there was no effort to have some left over, and numbers of new young officers were hired. The position I had been hired to develop skyrocketed. Three cases: a drug bust, the apprehension of the Hillside Strangler, and a local kidnapping sent the Bellingham Police Department off the charts nationally. The policies and procedures, the training, and the new addition of young new officers paid off.

On August 22, 1977 one of the new officers to come on board was Randy Carroll. His presence was noticed immediately, he did have a presence. His tall good looks, his pleasant personality, his conscientious attack to his work was evident. In the administrative area it was often mentioned that Bellingham would not be his home forever, he had a future. In 1977 Bellingham had not yet arrived, it was just on its way. Isn’t it amazing how things can change. Chief Carroll has been here 30 years. The department has continued its reach for excellence. There is no longer a gray front desk area with holes in the linoleum.

I have been retired for 20 years, and I look back on those 16 years as an amazing and challenging part of my life. In 1971 it was the time of hippies and Viet Nam, police officers were frequently called pigs. When I first went to work my friends were concerned that it just didn’t fit me, I had been administrative secretary to the Superintendent of Bellingham Schools, the chairman of the Science Department at Western, and the Bellingham Education Association. As the department developed its new persona, they no longer felt concerned. Since I was 49 when I began, the new recruits were “my boys and gals.” I was old enough to be all of their mothers and some of their grandmothers. I must add that at times they referred to me as the General. It added a completely new dimension to my life.

Mayor Pike is wise to use the complete survey method, Bellingham has benefited from the broader look and done well also from within the Department. May it continue.

How well I remember the Day, December 7, 1941. It was a beautiful sunny day, warmer than the usual weather. I lived in Seattle at the time and I had brought one of my roommates home with me for the weekend. We went to church on Sunday morning; arriving home my mother said: “Pearl Harbor has been bombed.”

It was incredulous, unbelievable. The war in Europe had been going on since 1938, and Japan had been rattling its sabers. At a Halloween party in October we had been discussing the state of affairs, Japan had made the statement it could bomb us. Ridiculous! One girl in our group had stated, “They wouldn’t dare.” Unfortunately they did dare.

Sunday dinner was eaten, my boyfriend (later to become my husband) came by and we drove out to Chuckanut Bay where his parents had a summer cottage, went down to the railroad tracks and walked the tracks in the wonderful sunshine, pondering the reality of our lives. So much to talk about: the draft which was in full swing, whether or not Jack would enlist immediately etc., etc., etc. WAR! All we had been taught with great enthusiasm was that World War I had been the war to end all wars. How could this be?

Besides this, numbers of our high school friends were in the local National Guard, others in the service, several in Hawaii. My brother had enlisted in the Marines in 1939 and was stationed in San Diego. Because of the war in Europe the draft had been initiated. Lowe Bartruff, a school music teacher and our church organist had been the first number drawn months before. Several friends worked at Boeings, which had moved into full gear. Our minds were in a whir, what did it all mean?

We returned home, ate a light supper and two other friends who were also home from Seattle came by to pick us up. There wasn’t any I-5, just Old 99 that went straight through Marysville. As we entered into Marysville, suddenly in front of us were flashing lights, and we were signaled to the side of the road. A convoy of Army trucks came roaring by. For several years the European conflict had been a part of weekly movie going in the news segment. I believe the news commentator’s name was Torgerson. I can see his face yet. Movies were the only place there was isual news. The road going into Marysville was not a movie; it was for real. The three girls in the car burst into tears and wept uncontrollably. Our world was falling apart.

The next morning President Roosevelt declared war on both Japan and Germany. By evening black curtains were going up on all windows. Would they strike again? Where?

They say now that at the time the U.S. forces were on a par with the strength of Sweden. The night of the 7th the Marines in San Diego were sent to the beaches with a rifle with a bayonet on it, but no ammunition. The war effort really moved into high gear. I was an Administrative secretary to the District Manager of the Gardner Denver Machinery Co., and sales skyrocketed. Our office was on 1st Ave. South and up to that time there had been ‘beggars” on the street. In weeks they were gone; everyone was caught up in the War effort. My roommate worked at Boeings and came home one night wide eyed. As she left the plant they were all held back, a limousine moved in front of them with President Roosevelt riding in it. Presidents did not run around the country in those days.

Rationing was begun immediately: gas, meat, sugar, nylons, other food stuffs, car tires; cars and electrical appliances were not manufactured. War bonds sold for $18.75. We knew we were at War.

“The Day of Infamy” changed our lives completely; and it lasted for 4 years.

Written by:
Geneil Chevalier

Thanksgiving Day and The Bellingham Herald reminds us that we are launched into the Holiday Season. The “tree” is a prominent part for most people, and I am again reminded how things have changed.

My first memory of our Christmas tree is when I was three years old and lived at 1800 Lake Street (now Lakeway Dr.). At that time (1925) there were just houses along Lake St., the side streets had few. The vast hillside behind was woods (mostly fir} except for a chicken farm at the top of the hill. Consequently, our trees came from that hillside. My father would go out and search for the perfect tree, cut it down and bring it home. Who the property owner was wasn’t an issue, there was so much forest land it didn’t matter.

Once in the house it was never just perfect and so my parents would use extra limbs from the bottom, bore holes in the trunk, filling in and making it “perfect.” Then we would all stand back and marvel at the symmetry and begin the decorating. Back then many trees were put up on Christmas Eve; ours always went up just one week before Christmas and was taken down on New Years Day. Our tree never had candles on it as some did; homes were heated with wood or coal stoves, and there was real concern about fire. The glass balls on our tree were very unique and special. Silver icicles were put on with tender care. It was always a thing of beauty and I would lay on the floor and watch it shimmer in the dusky light.

After my own home was established, we developed the tradition of always going out the Sunday after Thanksgiving with very good friends and their sons to a Christmas tree farm. We no longer had access to a hill that didn’t matter, and we would trudge around for a very long time looking for that “perfect” tree, leaving pieces of Kleenex on various branches of “maybes.” We often laughed when we found ourselves back where we began with our first choice. Since we maintained the tradition of “putting up the week before Christmas” the tree would be taken home, put in a bucket of water and tied to the clothesline pole. Came the time that we were bringing home 3 trees to take care of the grandparent’s homes.

As my husband’s health became more fragile, we knew we couldn’t continue all the things we had been doing like making garlands from fresh greens around the front door and the arches on our porch, and so we went to a wholesale house in Seattle and bought artificial greens for that. We looked at the artificial trees, found one that looked like a silver fir, but decided “not yet.” I continued to go on the tree hunting journey and friends put up the live tree for us. The year my husband died, the friends put it up for me.

Real transition! When I moved from the home we had lived in for 40 years I knew I had to let go of the “green smell.” I did find a “perfect” small, thin silver fir, that fit just right in my new home. I didn’t have to cut it but I could put it up. Also gave up the silver icicles because my husband was the one who had patiently placed them “just right” for 47 years. I stylized it to be a Victorian tree to fit into my new cottage home.

I have moved again this year, an apartment is my home. There is the perfect place for the Victorian tree; this year someone else will put it up for me, but I will decorate it. The lights are groups of 3 small electrically lit candles. There will be one item on the tree that was mine way back at 1800 Lake St, a tiny German Dresden doll, dressed in white baby clothes, placed in a place of honor. This year I will sit in my rocker and watch it all shimmer in the dusky light of a fireplace that actually functions with a 40 watt light bulb.

Yes, trees have changed and so have I, but my tree still goes up about a week and a half before Christmas. I am not ready to let go the day the presents have been unwrapped, it comes down when there are primroses to put on my dining room table, the week following New Years. The week between Christmas and New Years is when I like to entertain; that is the way it used to be and you hadn’t been doing it all since Thanksgiving. I am older, but the thrill of Christmas is still mine to hold and to cherish; it is a celebration of a day that transformed history.

Written by:
Geneil Chevalier

The Editor’s headline in today’s paper. Bellingham has just experienced its first big storm of the year; there are probably more on the way. Several of my friends and family are those who were without power from a short time to many more hours. At our house the lights flickered several times throwing the Microwave clock off, but no other problem.

Again my mind and memory go back those 80 years and remember that in my life it wasn’t until I was an adult that it mattered whether or not you were prepared. Just everyday living kept you prepared. If the lights went out, “so what.” You just lit a candle or an oil lamp; houses were heated with wood or coal; mothers were home to keep the fire stoked, food cooked and bread and cookies baked (no need to go to the store, staples were on hand so lack of meat need not matter with macaroni and cheese from scratch and a goulash that was delicious of macaroni and tomatoes) - we had never heard of pizza, tacos, etc.; hot water was heated by pipes that ran through the stove or there was a resevoir on the side of the stove; there weren’t as many electrical lines to be hit by a tree and if a tree did fall it was cut up for wood for the stoves; the milkman could still makes his rounds; there weren’t any computers, TVs, radios, dishwashers (just us), or washing machines. Numbers of homes did not even have a phone. Another huge difference was that people did not bathe or wash their hair everyday. That was usually a Saturday evening event.

Life went on as usual while living with flickering candles/lamps in the evening. We could still read, play board games, or mother played the piano beautifully. I remember well hearing her play “Robins Return” and whistling which she also did beautifully. Some people had victrolas and player pianos. And my older brother could tease me just as well and my mother could tell me that I was easily teased.

Obviously we managed very well, and when the electricity was coming back on didn’t really matter.

Geneil Chevalier

It is Tuesday, November 6th, and I have just retrieved The Bellingham Herald from my front porch. It is election day and so there aren’t any more letters to the editor or articles about various candidates and issues, so I have my yellow scratch pad ready to deal with the specials and coupons for this week listed at grocery outlets. Fred Meyers has already been evaluated since Sunday, and the rest will arrive in the afternoon mail.

So many choices: fruits and vegetables from Chili, Costa Rico and Mexico; avacados, oranges and grapefruit are beginning to come in from Florida and Texas, with some oranges from as far away as Australia; fancy cheeses from near and far; pasta in all sizes and shapes; virgin olive oil, canola oil, corn oil, and shortening; olives, pickles, catsup, mustard, mayonnaise, and salad dressing mixes; ice cream of all varieties, including sorbets. The meat counter is endless: chicken whole and cut up in many ways; pork in any cut you desire including bacons and hams; beef steaks, roasts, stew meat, hamburger; lamb too, as well as processed meats of every kind. And fish products from all over the world. Then there is the wine section as well as beer, soft drinks and cases of water.

As I think about it, I am suddenly staggered at the difference between now and when I was just a little girl. I go back eighty years, remembering what grocery shopping entailed at that time. So much simpler. In Bellingham all of the major stores were in the downtown area: There was Piggly Wiggly near the corner of Railroad and Holly, later moving to the 1300 block of Cornwall Ave. (an out-of-town franchise); the Home Market on the corner of Magnolia and Commercial (now the home of Cost Cutter’s corporate office) and the Public Market at the corner of Magnolia and Cornwall (now the home of Rite Aid) both of which were a compilation of meat and fish markets, groceries, each privately owned, with the Public Market also having a floral shop and ice cream outlet; and the Fair Market on the corner of Grand Avenue and Champion and I believe a Mr. and Mrs. Ennen were the owners. There were three Brown and Cole stores: one at the corner of James and Iowa; one in Fairhaven; and one up where Holly St. begins at Lakeway and Ellis and Jersey St., each smaller than the downtown stores but where many people called in their orders and the groceries would be delivered.

Milk was delivered to each home every day, arriving very early in the morning. Parents of teenagers were, on occasion, heard to say: “He/she came in with the milkman.” If you wanted anything special like buttermilk or whipping cream you would leave a note saying so. There were few refrigerators, some people had ice boxes (an iceman made daily rounds just as the milkman) and everyone had a cooler which was a cupboard on the outside wall of the kitchen with holes cut through covered with screen. Consequently, ice cream was a rare treat because it had to be eaten as soon as it was brought in. Soft drinks simply were not a part of our lives; and since Prohibition was a reality there wasn’t any wine, beer or hard liquor of any kind. Fish was available depending on the season. Leftovers from dinner were always eaten the very next day, usually for lunch.

Most families made their own bread, pies, cakes and cookies (oatmeal were the chocolate chip of the day) were everyday fare baked in a wood stove. Mother also made our mayonnaise, pickles, sauerkraut, jellies and jams. Since we didn’t have a car until 1932, my father always carried home 100 lb. sacks of flour and sugar on his shoulder. We could ride the streetcar from downtown to the corner of Humboldt and Lakeway, but our home was at 1800 Lakeway, which is at the corner of St. Paul St.

I doubt there was much advertising in the paper in reference to groceries. You just learned from experience where the best buys were, there weren‘t special sales. The things to buy were really very simple things. Fresh fruits and vegetables were almost nonexistent except in the summer, as well as chicken fryers. Cabbage, squash and root vegetables were about it, come fall. Anything else came in a can. Peanut butter was a staple. There was bologna and wieners; I remember standing by my mother at the meat counter and when she had finished her purchase the butcher would always give me a wiener to be eaten on the spot. Many families had gardens and canned profusely, many had their own chickens and rabbits in their backyards. Staples were what you bought: sugar, flour, lard, meat, fish, baking powder, soda, macaroni, etc. There weren’t many extras. The Watkins and Fuller Brush men stopped by houses selling their wares.

There were many small stores everywhere, where people could just drop in to get some needed item. They were called Mom and Pop stores. Saturday was the day everyone went to town to shop and visit on the street, usually buying the majority of their groceries then. I was always rewarded with an ice cream cone, purchased at the Public Market, always wanting chocolate to my mother’s chagrin, because it could be messy and she had a high cleanliness standard.

My list is complete now for this week, and includes fruits and vegetables completely out of season, as well as prawns and fish from as far away as the far East. I have a freezer filled with ice cream and meats, etc., that could last me for some time. My refrigerator is stocked with cheese, milk, various salad dressings, fruit and vegetables too. My milk is purchased by the gallon. Our family is not fond of leftovers and so if there is something left it used up later. Not the next day.

The news is constantly reminding us of the correct balance necessary to be healthy with the foods we eat. Looking back so long ago, I realize how fortunate I was because all of our meals were well balanced and contained many things which are considered essential. Fresh fruits and vegetables were short for 6 months of the year, but there was always all of these things that had been canned. There was always our added daily dose of cod liver oil. Yuk! I remember well our dinner, in the dining room with a white linen tablecloth and napkins at a time when washing was done every Monday on a washboard in a tub in the kitchen. My responsibility after dinner was to take a small silver tray and silver handled brush to brush the crumbs off the table. All of the family were together. I’ve always wanted to go back to 1800 Lakeway to see what the house is like now that nurtured me in so many way.

Geneil Chevalier

In the last week there have been at least two articles in the newspaper telling of the need for homes for foster care, as well as the fact that a study had revealed foster care payments did not meet the needs of the children.

My mind went back to 1938: It was in the midst of the depression; my father was making $80 a month shoveling coal into the boilers at the Darigold plant; Mother, like nearly every other mother was not trained for any kind of work, but was fully employed in homemaking, and felt the need for some “cash of her own.” President Roosevelt had been in office just 6 years and new social programs were popping up here and there to meet needs; and the State of Washington had begun a foster care program. It was decided that we would take in foster children for short terms.

Our first person was a 13-year-old boy whose mother had a baby. He stayed for 2 weeks. Hospital stays were much longer in those days. It was an uneventful time and I feel we were glad it was over. Shortly thereafter we were asked if we would take a brother (who was recovering from bronchitis) and sister, ages 18 months and 9 years, for about 2 months. I was 16 and my brother 19. I vividly remember the day, February 22, 1938, a school holiday. When I came home from staying all night with a friend, mother was bathing the little boy in the kitchen sink; I can still see his bright red cheeks. After the bath and being dressed, he was a precious little person. His 9-year-old sister was a pretty, pleasant little girl.

There had just been a divorce in the family; there were 3 children. The father gained custody of our two and the mother had the older sister. The mother was an alcoholic and the father simply didn’t function very well. If I remember correctly they all were on “Relief” with father working spasmodically at Larson Mill. The alcoholism was a unique reality at the time because Prohibition had just ended in 1932 and social drinking was not in vogue to any great extent.

Things I remember: Their mother came to visit one day and we were sitting in the living room. I told the little boy to go see his mother and he ran to mine. I ached for his mother. The girl had difficulty with school studies but excelled in relationships; we were all convinced it was that she was traumatized by the mother’s condition and the results of their life. This proved to be true in later years. Mother was not happy when told the 3rd grade teacher had said to her in class that it was what could be expected from “Relief” children.

The other issue: reimbursement for staying with us. Mother received $15.00 a month for each child, a total of $30 and the possibility of picking up clothing at the clothing depot. Now it would be $825 for the two children plus a 70 clothing stipend. How do you measure the difference? Not easy. At our house we had a huge, productive vegetable garden. Literally dozens of quarts/pints of vegetables and fruit were canned each summer as well as fish, meat and chicken. Mother made clothes for the girl, and even some for the little boy, aalthough I do remember little orange coveralls from the depot.

But the real outcome was the 2 months extended and extended and extended. They became family. Mother reinstated PTA, Sunday School, Rainbow Girls, paper routes, made a dress for a Homecoming Queen and a Rainbow Worthy Adviser, struggled through some of the throes of the teenage years - all of the regular stuff. They each left when they were 19 and married. Each have lived productive lives since and are still part of our lives.

A number of years ago ago there was an opportunity to meet with their mother. My foster brother on leaving the meeting simply said: “I have one mother, the one who fed me, bathed me, clothed me, and truly loved me. I need no other.

$30 a month! Apparently there was enough to cover the necessities.

Written By Geneil Chevalier