Fifties: Return to Alfred University for the reunion: Sweet Benign Mother, May I?

Sweet Benign Mother, May I?

Our Alfred Alma Mater refers to the school as our “sweet benign mother”, and we all love that term and sing it in great voice.  My fiftieth reunion did not disappoint me.  My friends were still friends, and conversation was, for the most part, not about medical conditions and deaths.  There was some talk about joint replacement, but that might have been my fault since my doctor suggested I test the water for my knee replacement by asking how many old friends had them and how they fared.  Serious conversation found most happy with replacements and quite encouraging.

One high point was a brief recitation from the handbook of 1965, the rule and laws that governed us at the time. Hilarious.  It got me thinking, though, about my grandmother who lived through the horse and buggy years to the Sputnik and Apollo times.  The Boggs family had one of the first automobiles in Woodstock.  No driving licenses were required at the time, and when, one day,  she decided to drive, she just got in the auto and went to the store. Upon arriving, she simply asked someone to turn the car around for her, she did not know how to do that, and then went on home.No permission was required.  She was always a terrible driver never recognizing those new flashing turn signals.On the other hand, she told me her mother would send her in for another petticoat if she could see even a shadow of a leg, so lots of permission was required.

At Alfred, we lived through the horse and buggy days of social regulations.  Women were protected by a series of policy statements requiring permission from “sweet benign mother” before leaving for an overnight or dressing in an odd manner.  My Spanish teacher required women to wear skits to class.  Her desk was actually set on a raised platform at the head of the classroom.  We laughed, but complied for the most part keeping skirts tucked in our purses and slipping them on over our slacks on the way to class.

The beauty of western New York, the unusual ceramic tiles of the buildings around Alfred, and the clear air reminded me why I still love Alfred. My class is full of interesting people from the spectrum of chosen occupations, doctors, lawyers, teachers, writers, farmers, and one forager, artists and engineers. I was the only librarian that I noticed, but one old friend has two sisters that are librarians and were Alfred grads.

I am still thinking about my theme of asking permission.  Regulation is still a struggle.  In my library career, I met with many stupid rules designed to keep collections in order, and with many people who wished to limit access to information or keep things "the way they always have been".  As I age, I try to fight the call of nostalgia, but I also am under the impression that an historical perspective might be important:  you know, the old saying about if you don't remember history, you are inclined to repeat it.

A Country Store: A High Woods Summer Swimming At The Patch.

The Patch was a popular swimming destination.  It was a deep place in the stream.  To get there you had to descend a steep path through the woods. It had been a favorite place for High Woods kids for decades.  My mother, May Wilgus is shown below.  The year is circa 1928 as she looks about 12 and she is wearing a 20’s style bathing suit, probably wool knit.  The other photo shows one of her friends, probably her cousin, Shirley, pointing to the swimming hole from the cliff above.  There is a shaft of sunlight, and the sandy beach is on the right.

 It looks the same as it looked in the 1950’s when it was an almost daily destination for our little family, mother, May, brother, Norman, sister, Meed, little brother, Mark, and me, Diana, plus our close friends Kit and Gunny Evers. 

Our car would arrive and all the kids would dash for the path leaving my mother to carry towels, picnic baskets and other necessities.  Often, there would be a father present such as Alf or Alan, and they would lug the heavy burdens as we kids ran down the path.

Along the way, there was a fossil place, an outcropping filled with fossils, and we would stop to see if there were any new ones.  We took them home and made little collections of them here and there in our yard in Woodstock.  With a little direction, I suppose it might have been a profound learning experience, but instead it remained a curiosity.

There was a sandy clearing at the end of the path, and, of course, a beautiful pool.  There were shallow spots along the edges, but the middle ran to a depth of over six feet.  A prominent shale cliff hung out over the water that allowed cannon balls, and dives.  The water was cool and clear.

We went there pretty much every day during the summer.  First, there would be a stop at the Wilgus store for provisions:  large slices of bologna, while bread, peanut butter and jelly.  Beer for the adults, lemonade for kids.  (My mother did not approve of soda).

There were occasional encounters with wildlife.  We were carefully warned about copperheads, so an occasional encounter with a hog nosed snake caused extreme anxiety as they make a huge display when frightened.  Water snakes would swim through unmolested on occasion.  A sandy spot near the little waterfall seemed like a nice spot to sit, but is loaded with leaches.  We called them bloodsuckers.  There were water striders, dragonflies and horseflies.  My brother, Norman, would search for Dobsons on the rocks near the edge of the stream.  They look like little lobsters, and wiggled around when touched. 

I enjoyed catching little pinheads in a cup.  Trout and bass were plentiful in the stream.  Crows were our favorite bird, and we would run around caw cawing whenever we heard them. 

A picnic fire would mean hot dogs, and everyone would rush off to find a good roasting stick.  Dessert would be marshmallows set on fire, burned to a crisp on the outside but soft and gooey and delicious inside.  The rocks around the fire could suddenly explode from the heat on the moist layers inside.  We were lucky to have no burning incidents, but it could be a very startling experience. 

The ride home in my mothers Jeepster (see picture below)  was itchy and sandy.  There was no need to bathe at home since we had been in the water all day, and, in the summer, it was not at all unusual for our well to go dry.