Tie clips (tie clasps)...typewriters...switchboard operators...gas station attendants...nickel candy....paper boys...milk men...women in hats...men in hats...dogs running loose...three piece suits...garter belts...green stamps....party lines

Here is the challenge..write a story including things you don't see anymore...come up with your own list...or use the above...or both the above and your list. You don't have to use every item on either list. I didn't.

The gas station attendant sprayed the windshield and wiped it dry with his red shop cloth. His name was Jeff, he used to be our paper boy. He always aimed for the porch but usually hooked it left into the hydrangea. The milkman made his deliveries on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings and on those days the paper was 'porched'. Ted in his snazzy white uniform and captain's hat dug the paper out of the bush and placed it between the bottles he left at our door.

"Thanks, Ted," we called out after him, our screen door squeaking and then slamming shut behind Mom. "That boy Jeff is not getting a tip this month." But of course when Jeff came to collect, we always gave him a little something extra. His family needed the money. His father didn't make it back. The tragedy of it was the war was over. His Dad was on sentry duty in some forgotten outpost in the South Pacific. A Japanese sniper who hadn't yet heard Hirohito surrendered unconditionally made Jeff's Mom a widow.

She received a neatly folded American Flag and gave her husband's dog tags and gold Marine tie clasp with the American Eagle, the globe and the anchor etched into it, to her son. Jeff kept both in a treasure box he hid underneath his bed with his purees, his box of BBs and the nudie playing card he'd found in the alley behind the pool hall.

We watched Jeff spray the right side of our windshield. He never got the windshield streak free. We never said anything, it was a small town, everyone forgiving because courtesy and friendliness trumped perfection. Everyone knew everyone else. Bikes were never stolen, dogs ran loose and lost dogs were always returned. Once in a while tragedy struck, a beloved four legged companion stepped out into main street or onto the highway at the wrong moment. Sometimes they survived. Some dogs had a habit of chasing cars. Our next door neighbor's dog was one of those. His name was Scamper and he walked with a limp, but still chased cars.

It would be unheard of to say anything. If people wanted to risk the health and well beings of their dogs that was their business.

"How's your Mom?" Dad asked Jeff as he took out a five dollar bill and paid for the fill up. "Mom is getting promoted to switchboard operator."

"That's fine, Jeff." Everything was fine with Dad. From the change, Dad gave me a nickel. I jumped out of the car and ran in to buy a Three Musketeers. When I climbed back in, Dad handed me a page of green stamps he had earned for filling up, "Put those in the glove compartment."

"What's a switchboard operator?," I asked Dad. He looked both ways before pulling onto the highway. "Well, I would say, it's a device that routes phone calls. Pretty technical. The world is getting complicated, son.

I peeled off the wrapper from my Three Musketeers Bar and thought about how complicated the world was getting.

© By Diana Mercedes (Writerworks@live.com)