“Frieda, look! I can see, I can see.” I know the year was 1947 and I was two because Big Mama died that year. Frieda got a spankin’ the next morning for putting me on the cabinet, and I squashed the butter that was getting soft for breakfast. What we were looking at was the light on the steam engine that passed by our kitchen in the middle of the night. It was glorious to see the beam of light shining through the darkness of the lightless country, and to hear the whistle from miles away, alerting the world of the coming of this huge silver bullet.

We lived in Perry, Iowa. Well, my great grand parents did anyway. But it seemed like home to me. We had a pump to collect water, and an outhouse to dispose of our water. We had lights, but also we still used oil lamps at times, I guess that saved money too. One of my favorite places to sit was in the living room in front of the pot-bellied stove. It was warm. It was home.

Then I don’t remember telephones ringing, but as I grew older I remember the black pole with the receiver on the hook. I remember we had to wait and see if anyone else was on the line, cause we had a party line. This was shared with several different people. In those days, everybody knew everybody else’s business. Wasn’t supposed to, but did. When the line was clear, a voice would come in and say ”Operator, may I help you?” Then we would give them a number like 215 please, and they would connect us or tell us that line was busy. But we were only supposed to use the phone when our parents gave us permission like to call an auntie, then go get mama, and let her know Auntie Da was on the line. Every now and then we could call a friend, with the stern warning, “Remember, the phone is not a toy, and don’t tie up the line. Other folks need to use it.” Wow, those were good times. Except when that voice would butt into our conversation and say, something like, “Jonita stop playing on this phone or I’ll tell Sister Simmons”. Oh-oh, yes, everyone knew who we were and who we belonged to, and there wasn’t no such thing as children havin’ their own business. They could also usually tell when someone was listening to their conversation, even though I tried to be VERY quiet. I guess they could hear me breathing or maybe snickering at something that was said.

No, then there was no speed dial, and not a lot of privacy. But the one thing we did have was community. Black or Caucasian, people watched out for the kids, and somewhat for each other. People seemed to realize then that the stronger the family values were, the stronger the community would be. The stronger the community, the stronger the city, the state, the nation. Just seemed like that was good sense back then.

I can’t remember a time when there was not a piano in my great-grandparents home. Music was so important. An old, huge more than heavy upright piano was against the wall. Singing was a natural part of our family from mama singin’ in the kitchen while she was cooking breakfast or before we went to bed at night. The voices blended so well. One of the lessons learned about singing is not to depend upon the piano or any instrument making music for you. Use the natural voice God gave you. If you could learn the song, learn to harmonize without the background stuff, wow, what a sound was produced when you put an instrument with the natural talent. It was the same thing with the harmonica, washboards, and spoons. Put those things behind natural voices and you got a grand ole’ time. There was nothin’ like sittin’ on the porch on a hot summer night, someone would start a song, others would join in, even the neighbors, and it would be a for real, “let’s have church time.” Oh, those are good memories.

I remember my house In Des Moines, Iowa. We didn’t have an electric refrigerator. We had a brown maple colored, wood icebox, with gold handles on it. It was pretty. I love it when the iceman would deliver, and after he was out of sight, we would take the lose pieces of ice from his truck. Okay, we were little thieves. But what I now believe is, he would cut off just enough chunks for us to have, then holler at us to get away from his truck when he came out of the house. Why, do I think this: because all the kids in school have the same memories. It was sad for us when we got our first electric refrigerator. No more ice man, no more games of putting ice down our friends shirts or pants. It just wasn’t the same fun playing with those perfectly square cubes that came from the ugly white enameled electric machine.

I remember coal bins; playing hide and seek outside, and having no other place to hid than the bin. Wow, that was fun. It was dangerous too, because our clothes were ruined, and if we chose to hide in the bin, we already knew there would be trouble from mom. But it was worth it. Those coal deliveries, trucks and bins all disappeared too, when they started using, I think it was baseboard heat. Not for sure what came next, but it was another kid memory that seemed to disappear with the onset of new technology. By the 1950’s that word, 'technology,' was beginning to hold a lot of meaning for all of us kids.

Going back to outhouses. Not the best smelling place, but it was a must and a shared job that we kept it clean, and plenty of newspaper and toilet tissue to wipe the butts (fact of life). I remember using the outhouse as a threat to get even with someone you’d have an argument with. This would really put fear in them to think they would be dropped in the hole with all the poop and whatever else laid in wait down under. Sometimes there would be a particularly mean kid who would put the kittens or puppies down there; boy did they have hell to pay when the parents found out. On occasion a parent would get a call from a grouchy neighbor that sometime during the night their outhouse had been tipped over, “Do your kids know anything about it?” Of course we didn’t, all good, young respectable children were home sleeping, under the watchful eyes of their attentive parents.

I remember when they put the bathroom and kitchen in. Running water from the sink, a toilet with a chain to pull and everything went down a real little porcelain hole. No more potty-chair to empty in the morning. The potty-chair was like a big ole’ throne chair, with a portable pot that everyone used through the night (it was our toilet). Now the invention of an inside automated toilet; that was wonderful, a miracle that ‘technology’ could be so very good. It was usually the kids that got the job of emptying the ‘pot’.

Running water in the kitchen meant no more going outside in the dead of winter to prime the pump, and haul water back to the house. Though we did have a few good water fights, we could now stay warm. No more washing in one bucket and rinsin’ in another to clean the dishes. The pump was still good to get cool water on a hot summer day without going inside and tracking mud or loose dirt all over mama’s floor. Running inside water also meant that washday would be different. Mondays were washday, and it was a mama children event. There would be at least four, sometimes five galvanized pots of water. One for washing, complete with scrub board, one for the first rinsing of the clothes, another for the second, then there was one for bluing (whitening the white things), and one for starch. This job could take most of the day, and usually mama would take in other people’s wash to make some extra money. This was defiantly a boiled dinner day. That meant dinner went on the stove, and little attention had to be paid to it. Like navy beans and ham, with cornbread on the side. YUM! It was a lot of work, but there is nothing that can beat the smell of fresh washed clothes blowin’ in the natural wind.

Weeknights consisted of sitting on the floor in front of a beautiful piece of furniture called the radio. It was as tall as me, and us kids were in a circle, while the grown folks were on the couch or in overstuffed chairs, listening to shows like “The Shadow Knows.” A deep, man’s voice would start off the program, “Who knows what lurks in the heart of man? (pause) The Shadow knows. It was so scary, but exhilarating too.

These are just a few of my memories before technology really took over and took the personal touches out of communication and community. It was slower then, more peaceful at times, and I always had the feeling of safety at home and on the street. Could I live without it now? I think those of us who lived in simpler times could survive and maybe help show the younger generation that life goes on; with or without automation, electronics, gadgets and gadgets. In this age of instant gratification, life without all the new technology we have would be slower, but it could also be less stressful. One may have to actually use more brainpower figuring out ways again to make life easier, but we can and would survive without all the technology we have today.