Saturday Night

In the 50’s, before the big box store and franchise waves destroyed nearly every Main Street in small town America, villages were alive with thriving small businesses built on a farm economy.  But it was no cake walk for businessmen. The five day forty hour week was a futuristic concept.  Six times a week, workdays began at 7:00 AM and ended at 6:00 PM, except for Saturdays during the summer, when stores reopened from 7:00 PM to 9:00. For a kid, and probably for adults too, summer-time Saturday nights in Lowry were exciting.  Country and town folk alike cleaned up and “went to town”.  My father would knock off work early at 5:30, clean up and have a quick supper and head back to the hardware store. Bib overalls were exchanged for a “uniform”, matching shirt and trousers in army green or navy blue - no tie.

By 7:30 there was not a parking place to be had on Main Street. Joe the butcher’s popcorn machine was pinging away outside the meat market.  The Dahl House Cafe was doing banner business with hand-scooped ice cream cones at a nickel a scoop - chocolate, strawberry or vanilla. The tavern was SRO.  And the gossip flew.  More talk than money exchanged, except perhaps at the tavern while at the hardware the bulk of commerce was free advice.  But, this summer ritual was an important part of the area’s sense of community.

Saturday night was “Great Expectations” for kids of a certain age.  Something interesting and dangerous was sure to happen.  

My first order of business was to walk Main Street east side and back on the west side checking out cars.  I am told when I was 5, I could name the make and model of every vehicle on main street. This “talent” even got me a mention in "The Beachcomber" column in Pope County Tribune one slow news week.  

In the 50’s cars were not all indistinguishable clones.  Big finned Plymouths, 3 hole Buicks, classic ‘51/‘56 Ford and ‘57 Chevy, but nary a Cadillac. Lowry folk would not be so pretentious, or so foolish with their hard-earned money, although Doc Lee drove a ‘55 T-Bird to the clinic on his twice a week office hours in Lowry. It was a wonder.  

Some of my older buddies seemed much more interested in who might be in these cars than the styling though.  Sparking was not something I was at all ready for. 

But another reason for my fascination with cars was the fact we didn’t have one. We went everywhere in dad’s work pickup, four of us packed in. Made me wonder if we were poor. Who didn’t have a car?

Come Saturday night, some of the more incorrigible gang members would look for opportunities for mischief – climbing the water tower, firecrackers, water balloons, ….  The east side of main street had no empty lots and it was possible to go the length of the block from south to north on rooftop, making wonderful water artillery locations.  I never had the nerve.  

The standard entertainments included a pinball machine in the Dahl House but there was always a waiting line on Saturday night, so although my grandmother would have disowned me had she known, occasionally, I would sneak into the tavern with Big Time to play the bowling game or cards (hearts or rummy). Daring stuff.

At 8:00, the whistle would blow, signaling the big event of the evening - “The Drawing” - held usually at McIver’s Store, the local mercantile. To enter, all that was required was to “do business” in town, but you had to be present to win. Lowry’s forerunner of the Chamber of Commerce, the “Commercial Club” sponsored the drawing and gave away prizes of $25, $10 and $5 each week – good for trade at any local business - “Lowry Bucks”.  In addition, McIver’s offered up a free bag of groceries.  The people packed into the store while Howard picked names out of the barrel and gave the winners' some grief. I suspect the tavern redeemed most of the “bucks”.

Saturday night was also the opportunity for young trapper entrepreneurs to redeem the week’s bounty of gopher feet with the county agent – 10 cents for striped gopher feet, 25 for pocket gophers. Pocket gophers created dirt mounds in farmers’ fields and were a nuisance.  Savvy trappers managed to cajole an additional quarter from the farmer on whose land the rodent met its demise, doubling the take. I tried this trapper business a few times. Big Time taught me how to find the hole in the mound (at the cusp), dig it out and set and anchor the trap.  But even at 50 cents a gopher, getting up at 6:00 AM and riding my bike 5 miles into the country to check my traps every day was way too much work. Perhaps an early indication of a lazy-boy attitude?  And my mother really didn’t appreciate a can of gopher feet in the refrigerator. I preferred extorting money from friends and relatives with fast, sloppy lawn-mowing jobs.

After the 8 o’clock drawing, the crowd slowly thinned – 6 AM chores with church following loomed. And for the gang, perhaps bicycle chase in the dark or a stealing apple escapade until the 10 o’clock whistle blew.