What is the first things you think of when you think of your parents? My thoughts are of Grain Belt beer and Chesterfield cigarettes.
As a pharmacist, Dad worked long hours. He often closed the store at 10:00 p.m. We were happy on those nights when he was home by 6:00. He worked every other weekend, with no days off in between.
On the nights when Dad didn’t need to stay late at the drug store, he stopped at North Liquor Store in North St. Paul on his way home. There he would buy cases of Grain Belt Premium in white bottles and cartons of Chesterfield cigarettes. I can only imagine how good that beer tasted after working long hours. How much he enjoyed those cigarettes!
As the oldest child, my job every morning was to fix the coffee in the percolator, turn on the stove, and make sure the coffee was ready for my mother when she got up. I was probably about seven or eight years old. I liked being responsible. I especially enjoyed being the first person to get up in my house. School started with Mass at 8:15.
My other early morning task was to put the empty beer bottles back in the case and clean the ashtrays that were overflowing with cigarette butts. It wasn’t hard. I liked counting the number of beer bottles before I put them away. Twelve beer bottles and two ashtrays were usually waiting for me as I tidied up the living room, checked on the coffee, and told my mother it was time to wake up.
I had graduated from school and was living in Denver, when my mother called to tell me that she and Dad had “quit everything.” No more beer. No more cigarettes.
“What happened? How can you do that?” I asked.
“Dad went to the doctor and the doctor told him he was worried about his liver.”
When Dad came home and told Mom the doctor said he had to stop drinking, my mother said that if he couldn’t drink, she wouldn’t drink any more either.
“But if we have to stop drinking, we have to stop smoking, too. The two go together. I can’t imagine not having a drink if I’m still smoking,” she announced.
My father wasn’t all-in on the decision to stop smoking. The next night my mother said that she was going to go to a six-week class to help her quit.
“That’s good,” said my Dad. “But I’m going to stay right here and keep smoking while you are in class.”
After six weeks my mother came home. She was no longer smoking, but my Dad was smoking as much as ever.
“Ok, that’s it,” my mother told him. “I can’t be around people who are smoking, so you have to quit now, too.” And so, just like that, he did.
My father, who was almost six-feet tall, never weighed more than 145 pounds during his Grain Belt and Chesterfield days. When he quit those habits, he started making bundt cakes and gained thirty pounds.
First of all, I see your dad in you.
Loved the story. My folks smoked Camel no filter (dad) and Salems (mom). They both drank high balls…and I’m not even sure what that is.
Those were the days.
I had forgotten how much you look like your dad. Great story – I suppose by the time I met him, he had already quit smoking.
I remember and liked your Dad looking just like that photo, and I have memories of my Dad playing a trumpet, Lucky Strikes, and Hamm’s beer. My Dad even wrote to that brewery to tell them that their commercials were getting on his nerves. There was so much emphasis on “water” used in the making of Hamm’s beer , and “The Sky Blue Waters” from Minnesota jingle that he decided to just drink the water. That was his humor. Thanks for sharing your memories, it brings back some to me as well..
Your Minnesota stories always make me smile, and sometimes laugh out loud. Especially the one where your brother tells about playing baseball and they made their own rules. I think those events remind me of my own Midwestern upbringing. I had almost forgotten about cleaning those ashtrays!
Such fond memories!