I got to thinking a while back about growing up in a small town in the Mohawk Valley back in the 1950s. Looking back on it I realize that it was a very different world from the world I live in now.

But that’s alright because I enjoy living in these times with flat screen high definition televisions that are much more reliable then the sets that were filled with a myriad of hot glowing tubes, and tangled wires that provided a black and white image and where adjusting the horizontal and vertical hold controls was an art in itself. Back then, we even had a set that sizzled when first turned on in humid weather

Those were the days before desktops and laptops when computers filled an entire room. The closest I came to a computer was a hand cranked adding machine in my father’s office. Word processors were typewriters that had one font and font size. It still amazes me how quickly they disappeared from the marketplace and offices although there are sites where you can buy vintage ones. Amazon is even selling one vintage typewriter as a home décor item.

Shopping was different in those days because malls didn’t exist, and shopping centers were just coming into vogue in the bigger cities. In Fort Plain when you went shopping, you parked your car by the store, most of which were located on Main or Canal streets. If you wanted to shop at several you could park in the village lot behind the post office by the bandstand in Hasslett Park.

Most people shopped locally, out of convenience and loyalty to friends, family and neighbors. Even with gas at 32 cents a gallon trips to cities like Utica, Amsterdam, or Albany with a larger selection of stores and merchandise were all-day excursions that were usually made around Christmas. Locals could also shop in catalogs which in those days were mainly those of Sears and Mongomery Ward.

Fort Plain was the center of a large area of dairy farms supplying two local creameries where milk and other dairy products were processed, much of it for the New York City market. Friday evening and late Saturday mornings were when local farmers took a break from their chores and milking schedules to come to town to shop. On Fridays and Saturdays parking was at a premium even with the village lot and resulted in “double parking” that was a real irritant to local police and the village board.

When I went downtown back then it usually wasn’t to shop, which I only did regularly at Christmas time. However, sometimes we did visit the local hardware store to buy nails when we were building a new “fort” or the local five and dime when we needed caps for our “weapons.”

Every couple of weeks my mother would give me 50 cents and tell me to get a haircut and off I went. In those days there were no such things as unisex hair salons. Men and boys went to barber shops and women went to hairdressers.

The barber shop had an ambiance all its own. It was sort of a village men’s club. In this club a barber or two waiting for a customer would pass the time of day sitting in chairs that provided a good view of Canal Street discussing village news with men who had just had a haircut or were in no hurry to get one. We young boys were relegated to seats at the rear of the shop but that had the advantage of being closer to the stacks of Life, Look and Sports Illustrated magazines. What added to the shop’s ambiance was a mixture of the sweet soapy odor of shaving cream, the spicy odor of hair tonic and the scent of five cent cigars.

The shop was owned by a gentleman nicknamed “Fritzy.” He developed cataracts and while awaiting surgery, a major procedure in those days, had the chance to give my youngest brother a haircut that looked like a fright wig. When my mother saw it, she drove to the shop with my brother in tow and read Fritzy the riot act. I wasn’t there but I felt sorry for him.

My friends and I had a few places where we hung out. One of these was Waufles Newsroom that had the best selection of comic books in town. On rainy summer afternoons and even on snowy Saturdays we would sit and read everything from Superman and Batman to Donald Duck, Daffy Duck and Porky Pig. Jason, the owner, never gave us any trouble because we kept the books saleable and were good customers. On a hot summer day there was nothing like a serving of Richardson’s root beer in frosted mugs you could get there.

Those days are now far in the past. Most of the people who made it interesting are gone now along with a lot of the local businesses, victims of the big box stores that now dot the land. But the village is still there, a little quieter and a little less crowded but for me and many others, no matter where we are, it’s still home.

Thomas Kirkpatrick is a Silver Creek resident. Send comments to editorial@observertoday.com.