At first glance, it looks like she’s scooping ranch dressing on to deep dish pizza. Not the worst thing in the world.
But further inspection shows that S’Macaroni Bake is actually canned salmon with creamy lemon sauce, and fun pimiento zig-zag lattice work over green olives. Not the Sunday nite dish I had as a kid, but then again, my mom never wore a dress with a bustle.
Feb 1955
The ad says men go for its mouth-watering flavor. It doesn’t say what women go for, but who cares in 1955, right? Just bake it already.
An elm tree in Andrew County, Missouri fell smack dab onto a sister tree 25 feet away. Instead of dying, the two continued to grow together. At time of picture in 1928, it was 75 feet tall and quite the climbing tree for youngsters.
State Historical Society of Wisconsin/Hometown USA
You mean I can get some grasscloth wallpaper for the bathroom and also address my uncle’s undertaking needs? Sign me up.
Sounds odd that Rau’s store in Beloit, Wisconsin would specialize in such varied options until you realize the cabinet maker also had a talent for constructing coffins.
As the new semester starts, students in the fall of 1968 rush the cashier with textbooks and other school supplies. Then it’s back to the dorms for a change of clothes because the Methodist Student Center is hosting a back-to-school party tonight.
Later on, it’s going to get groovy, man. Lose your shoes and let your hair down.
Don’t overdo it because you’ll have to be up early in the morning. Isn’t campus lovely this time of year?
Linda is delighted that the University Complex South just got the new typewriters in. They’re super intuitive.
Lily is excited to use the dictaphone in shorthand class, the wave of the future.
Don’t worry; teachers are always willing to help students with vocabulary words.
And students are willing to point out where professors may have spilled potato salad on their ties.
You can catch up with your old friends and talk Aqua Net. No boys will ever run their fingers through your hair again.
Go wild and take a modern dance class.
But before long, those term papers will be due.
So be sure to put on that thinking cap and make it another great year of academics!
all images from I Remember Distinctly by Agnes Rogers
Passengers board a Ford tri-motor plane in 1932, a plane which carried only a dozen folks and cruised at 125 mph. Note the attention to clothing and accessories, as this was not a local jaunt to Walmart.
Below are “air stewardesses” in 1935, chosen for their short stature as well as their XX chromosomes. In addition, all were trained nurses.
Now we see an actual airborne photo of an American Airlines DC-4 with a top speed of 211 mph at 10,000 feet. She looks sturdy, no? Up, up, and away!
Jimmy may be wearing loafers, but there’s no loafing going on here. He’s making sure he’s got the energy to keep loading boxes of atomic fireballs, Butterfingers, and Baby Ruths. Surely he’s got the metabolism to indulge in chocolate bars each shift. He might even snag a box of Pom Poms on his way out.
I’ve never understood folks who write off an entire category of food. My mother-in-law visited a few days ago and announced that she didn’t like fish because it was too fishy. This was soon after I’d ordered the salmon Caesar salad at Longhorn Steakhouse. I told her it was a gamble, like nuts. Sometimes you get a rotten cashew. Sometimes the fish is fishy. Jim Gaffigan has a whole routine about hating fish.
Then there are sushi snobs who go on and on about bluefin and skipjack. Not me. I ate a Luby’s fried cod platter as a girl. I ate fish tacos as a young adult. I had drum that one time on my honeymoon that we splurged. And I had the salmon Caesar last week on my wedding anniversary, which happened to coincide with her visit. She did say she liked lobster, however. My husband’s allergic, so I don’t even remember what lobster tastes like. If we could afford it, I’d eat fish several times a week. In this economy, I have tin cans of Crown Prince kipper snacks piled in the pantry.
Kipper are actually herring, same as the ones held by the “Scotch lassies” above. These girls numbered among the many Scots who came to work by the hundreds to Whitby, a seaside town in North Yorkshire, England. During the herring season of 1932, folks literally rolled up their sleeves, got their hands dirty, and dug in. Might not be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel, but it’s honest work.
I Don't Get It 