Growing up in Louisa – Which Generation?
Weekly feature . . . by Mike Coburn
Like many of you, my friends, I made it into the world at just the right time. The things of nineteenth century were fading away and the twentieth was struggling to take hold like a bunch of biddies hatching. This gave me a view, albeit brief, of a few of the old ways. The nation had just gone through two world wars and a deep depression that had effect on everyone’s life. Things couldn’t have been any more uncertain for those who were trying to settle into the ‘American dream.’ When I looked at my new world, which was centered on my family and their experiences, I saw plenty of ‘modern’ advances, but these were ‘how things were’ to me. Only those things that my family expressed excitement about were seen as new. Throughout all of these early years I suffered though the deprivations common to the populace at this time, and didn’t give it a second thought. Children tend to not see the problems as much as the excitement of new discovery. The worries of the older folks were theirs. Ours were about the toys, eating, and playing.
The little County seat was full of automobiles that had been made before the war, or only just after. The 1947 models looked much the same as the 1941s. That was because the factories had been busy making tanks, airplanes, trucks and jeeps for the European and Pacific battles. That was also likely part of why I frequently saw Model ‘A’s’ and ‘T’s’ driving about. Many of the people that lived off the land around town were poor and didn’t have the means to buy new cars. Some hadn’t gotten around to procure their first one, whether new or used. In those days it was common to see horse-drawn buckboards ride into town to pick up grain or feed. One, in particular, delivered ice all about town. It would be near the end of the forties when the horse was retired and a flatbed truck took over the route. A lone rider on a good looking horse would sometimes come in, roll their own, lite up, and tie the horse to a rail or roof support. Several of the stores in town had wooden awnings over the sidewalk to protect the pedestrian and any crates of produce that might be displayed outside the store’s entrance. While most were concrete sidewalks in my day, one or two still had wooden planks laid to serve as sidewalks. I could imagine that the town may have looked very like those in the western movies. I honestly can’t say I remember that, but it couldn’t have been long replaced when I came along.
Most of the streets in town were paved by the time I hit them with my trusty bike, but the surface varied. I remember part of Lock Avenue (Main Street to Pike) was brick, something you usually only saw in big cities. Our town was too small for trolleys, but I did ride them when I was in Detroit. Later, they took them out in favor of the more expensive busses. I think that was a conspiracy between bus makers, tires makers, and the petroleum interests. Most cities followed those lobbyists and got rid of the romantic and economical trolleys. Well, all that maneuvering hadn’t effect on our town. We had concrete streets for the most part, but blacktop here and there.
Outside of town paving was another matter. Except for the US Highways, many of the roads of Lawrence County were gravel or dirt. When I caught the bus at the drugstore and rode to see my aunt who lived outside Catlettsburg, the road was full of those famous twisty mountain curves that were enough to make this little boy sick. There was no air conditioning in those days and the fumes would rush through the open windows. Yuk!
Meanwhile, the ‘river road,’ which during my senior years became the main road north, was dirt and impassible from time to time. The ruts were huge and deep. It was a common sight to see farmers pulling cars out of the muck. When the driver approached a creek there was no bridges. A steep incline would put you down in a ravine where you had to ford the steam. Your success depended on the depth and current, or if it had a stone bottom. I remember that there was one or two places where trees had been laid out to form what was called a corduroy roadbed. They would keep cars from sinking or miring up most of the time, but when laid under water they would be slick and very difficult to traverse. I remember spending most of one boyhood afternoon with my aunt trying to get us kids home. We had to wait on a tractor to come along. For some reason we didn’t have a single cell phone among us! Go figure!
Lots of farmers still used horse-drawn implements. I remember watching sorghum mills run by mules. I think one was out in the Bottom, or maybe out near Beechgrove, or Wallbridge. In any case, it wasn’t far out of town. I think you will agree that the swinging bridges were a lot more interesting. Many families had to cross one to get the family home. Being a perpetual klutz, the bridges saw me coming. They would take me into its clutches and swing wildly, threatening to turn completely upside-down and dump me into the ‘drink.’ Many in my family had no problems in crossing those horrible conduits, unless of course, one of the older kids would purposely start to make it swing. I learned that one can fairly easily cross the bridge, but when two or more try it get increasingly more difficult. During that time in my life I was a non-swimmer so I envisioned a fall, a cold death, and a trip with my body eventually floating down the Ohio and into the great Mississippi. It would be my first trip to the Gulf.
Unless you think this was a one-time event, let me assure you I’ve seen swinging bridges, whether high or low, crossing swollen creeks and deep ravines. Some of them had a wooden floor and ropes to grasp, but some required you to step on crossed sections of rope. Slow and easy I was told but my instincts wanted me to run, or to grab hold and freeze. I always had to question the ‘why’ of even trying this stupid trick.
With all these ‘old ways’ still going on it would be late in my high school years before we replaced the crank phone with a new dial or push-button model. We had gone from ice box to a refrigerator, and had a consul TV. During these busy years of change mankind defeated polio, developed antibiotics, and nearly forgot about TB. The iron lung is long forgotten, yet it saved lives back in the day. We saw a deluge of open heart surgeries, and big advances in medicine. New, fancy appliances were marketed over TV and housewives gave hints to their hubbies, sometimes with a favorite meal or some other treat. The town had two firetrucks, but one had to be cranked to start. The new one was made in the fifties and while it would look ancient today, was a marvel in its time. I’m sure it saved some lives. It would not be long before they were tested with the train collision with a fuel truck on Madison. Sadly that cost a man his life and a large area of town, including the depot.
The confusing thing is that in some ways I see myself as very much a hybrid of up to three different centuries. Consider what I’ve written here and add some of the stories we heard about Civil War, the Korean War, or the Spanish American War. I listened to some veterans from the First World War and learned about gas warfare.
I’ve also written stories about the wonderful cold water drawn in oak buckets from deep wells. I’ve mentioned camping, riding, and early radio, and TV. But I have also seen a televised picture of a man walking on the moon, a Mars Rover land and take samples and pictures, the Atom bomb, the World Wide Web, texting, terrorism, a cellphone for every person, and a fractured society shaking its head while it wonders what will come next. There are those that think that the fiber of the American people will continue to bless us, and that with faith that God’s blessings will continue to flow. I just hope the road to that better time is not corduroy.