The Years Without a Santa: BVD Pajamas (1943)

1943 and Santa's disposed with the jeeps and army helmets, stopped mentioning the war, and started selling underwear. Things are grim folks. Still, I dig the paisley jammies. The guy in tan looks like a Star Trek extra.

The Years without a Santa: Camel Cigarettes (1943)

Prince Albert in a Can? Santa's back to selling monkeys for your back. Now in the nice gingerbread cancer ward style.

The Years Without a Santa: Pennsylvania Railroad (1943)

Before the war the rich could board a Constellation or Clipper for exotic locals but for the average Joe and Jane it was trains and automobiles and the occasional ocean liner. War changed all that. The skies (and seas for that fact) weren't friendly and even if they were wartime rationing would have curtailed non-military travel.

Still, a the December 1943 issue of Life Magazine Pennsylvania Railroad ran this ad touting its war-effort tonnage. I've started calling this sort of ad "patriotism banking", the hope that touting a company's patriotism would equal dollars in the post-war economy.

So this Christmas, while Aunt Martha is alone on the coast instead of safe in the bosom of her family, just think of all those tanks that made the trip she couldn't.

The Years Without a Santa: Stromberg-Carlson (1943)

1943 and reality has come home for Christmas. This realization is shown eloquently in this ad for Stromberg-Carlson radios, morphing from pre-war ignorant bliss to early days "we're going to show 'em how it's done" bravado, to the long bloody trail to the war's end. It is interesting that Stromberg-Calrson hasn't de-German-ed their name, though.

The Years Without a Santa: Whitman Sampler (1942)

A spot of color from 1942! While pouring over ads from that year, this one practically screams at you for its use of color. No black-and-white and grim Santa Clause, just a box of chocolates and some holly. In fact the only mention of the war is the admonition not to forget those in the service. Apparently the war hadn't come home to the Whitman company. That would change when sugar rationing hit the US. But, for the moment, they still were selling their samplers in the same way they'd always sold them.

The Years Without a Santa: Roadmaster Bicycles (1942)

I had a Roadmaster bike as a kid. It was what hipsters would call a 'fixie' - no gears and pedal brakes. I rode that bike all over, it was my first means of freedom. I would have been out of luck in 1942, though, because The Cleveland Welding Company, makers of Roadmaster bikes, was a vital war industry and had switched production. A decade after the war they'd be bought out by AMF and eventually become known for shoddy, low-quality bicycles.

The ad features a somewhat less war-mad Santa. He's not shoving cigarettes or bayonets into the kid's hands. I guess that makes him more the jolly old elf we know nowadays.

A Wartime Santa

Remember when a carton of cigarettes was a good Christmas gift? Me either. I certainly remember a lot of smoking during the holidays. I remember coming home with smoker's cough from a long Christmas Eve at the grandparents' house at the age of nine. I can remember lying on my back by the Christmas tree, breathing the cool, clear air, and staring up at the fog-bank of second-hand smoke that hung just a few feet above where I lay. It was like being in an episode of Emergency, only without sirens or Randolph Mantooth.

Anyway, the ad's from 1942 - gasoline rationing had just started, the US had just bombed Italy, and there was a long and bloody road ahead before peace would return. But light up boys, you may be dead tomorrow so why worry about a little lung cancer?

Don't Call Long Distance - 1942

Santa Grinch would like to dissuade you from talking with your friends and loved ones at Christmas time. 1942 was a grim time, grim with war, grim with rationing, grim with ads that shamed you if you had any holiday cheer. Even Santa had turned to a boiled-faced shrew, chiding that the phone lines were too filled with the calls of people more important than you with better things to do that wish your 92 year old granny merry Christmas. Merry Christmas? Bah, any fool who calls to wish Merry Christmas should be buried with their ration book shoved down their throat.

Funny, now practically nobody makes long distance calls. The rise of the cell phone and national coverage plans has nearly eliminated the phrase from our lexicon along with operators and phone books. An entire hipster culture is waiting - the culture for hard-wired, dial telephones mounted in artisan booths with hand-crafted books of phone numbers. Maybe there'll be a Brooklyn eatery where you have to put a dime into a pay phone to call the operator who will connect you to the wait staff. One moment please...

So this year give the gift of a cold shoulder. Santa Phone is watching you and he knows if you're buying black market ration stamps or not.

Happy Father's Day

Little Father's Day gift for the common fellow, franks and Seagram's 5 Crown from Life Magazine, June 1945. Looks like the beginning of a good day to me!

The Christmas List - Paris Suspenders

I've always had a soft spot for suspenders. It's my love of all things 20's and 30's, I think. That and growing up in the 80's when they had a resurgence. I've got a half dozen pairs and no pants with buttons to accommodate them.

The references to conserving rubber is an interesting one. The war years were rationing years and nothing escaped the ration board's roving eye.

$1.50 a pair too? You definitely got a lot more for a dollar back in the 40's!

The Christmas List - Paul Jones (Sort Of)

Not so sure about adding a bottle of Paul Jones blended whiskey to my Christmas list, but man dig the mid-century office desk and chairs! I definitely would like to see this set under my tree!

Texcel Tape (1949)

Want to feel old? Dig into the magazine archives and find something that you remember. Not as in, "oh yeah, I've seen that ad before." No, a product you remember from your own life. Now, to be honest, I'm not sure if it was Texcel tape that I remember, but it was some type of Christmas-decorated tape. The little aluminum dispenser dwelled in the box where my mother stored wrapping paper and bows and I saw it each time I sequestered myself in the bedroom to wrap gifts.

The ad's from a  November 28,1949 issue of Life Magazine features the requisite, pre-fifties freckle-faced kid and wasp-waisted mom dressed in evening wear and a pearl necklace to wrap the family's gifts. Notice the package for Dad? Doubtless a carton of Camels.

Thanksgiving Dinner - Cloverbloom Turkey

Some of you may have just got up to begin the annual, November turkey ritual. Stumbling to the kitchen to put the bird in the roasting pan and pre-heat the oven. A few foggy-headed fiddlings with salting and peppering and then a somnambulistic slog back to bed and a few more hours of blessed sleep before the onslaught to turkey zero-hour truly begins. By the time you rise, the house already has started to smell like Thanksgiving - that warm, baking bird aroma that hangs in the air in spite of the fact the bird's still frozen to its core.

At one time Armour was a player in all things meat. They sold steaks, they sold poultry, and they sold potted meat product. If it was meat, Armour sold it somewhere and that included the centerpiece of the Turkey Day feast. As I look at this ad, I can't help by think how time's turned up our expectations both in presentation and quantity.

Today no poulterer worth their salt would dare advertise a bird that hadn't been brined, glazed, smothered in exotic spices and citrus, professionally photographed, and PhotoShopped to the point it bore no resemblance to its former self. It's a byproduct of the 24 hour Food Network cycle. Now a simple roasted turkey can't really be simple, it's got to be spiced, or plumped, or boozed, or deep fried, or whatever before it can be considered a success.

The second thing I noticed is how small  the bird in the ad seems. I mean it looks practically chicken-like there on its simple platter with cranberry tartlets and a few wilted greens for a garnish. According to the Atlantic, in 2013 the average weight of the American thanksgiving turkey passed 30lbs, big enough to eclipse the platter and encroach on the peas in Armour's paltry poultry picture. I'd be surprised if the bird shown in the 1947 ad weighed in at more than ten pounds after being stuffed. Then again, the average American probably weighed a third as much back in 1947 what with the Great Depression and four years of war rationing their dinner choices.

All of that said, what will I be doing today? Getting up at the crack of dawn to set thirty pounds of turkey flesh in the oven. I just have to decide whether I want to do Wild Turkey Honey-Glazed or Five Spice Rubbed.

Thanksgiving Dinner - Pumpkin Pie!

I didn't know Dinah Shore had a position on the presence of pumpkin pie on the Thanksgiving table. One thing is clear, she's not aware pumpkin is squash, but we're getting into the weeds here because what the spokeswoman for Birds Eye is trying to do is sell you on the idea you can make your pumpkin pie with plain old yellow squash. Never tried it and I'm pretty sure I never will. I do dig the lecherous cat, though.

Thanksgiving Dinner - Soup

Usually I wouldn't choose a Campbell's ad as part of the turkey day buffet, but this one struck me both because it features mushroom soup which seems to be the key element of every green bean casserole I've ever eaten and the model for the mother reminds me of a friend. Interesting that the "soup for lunch" includes a grilled cheese sandwich and pudding with whipped cream topping. Kind of defeats the whole soup for lunch thing, doesn't it?

The unstated reason that mother is away in this ad is the war effort. Rosie the riveter meant the kids sometimes were left to fend for themselves. Nice that the kids kept up the stereotypes while mom was away. They always were thoughtful that way.

Extra Helping - Nestles Fighting Chocolate

An extra helping of chocolate on this Veteran's Day. Nestles ad from the mid-forties promoting the caloric content of chocolate. There's something you won't see today! Now we have to invent flavonoids to justify wolfing down a candy bar, but back in the 1940's they were good with "it's got lots of calories!"

Thanksgiving Dinner - Meat Pie

Okay, so it's not technically a food ad, but it does have a budget-saver recipe. Hey, what more could you ask? Besides, I omitted a contribution to the holiday groaning board yesterday so I owe you a double-dose.

This ad ran in 1942, the dark days of World War II when Thanksgiving meant being glad the boys had finally broken out of El Alamein and the Rommel and the Nazis were in retreat. On the home front mom was welding bomber fuselages while dad was carrying a rifle and rationing was in full swing so the big Turkey Day dinner wasn't all that big.

Hundreds of Victory recipes were printed in magazines and newspapers, all promising to stretch a dollar and put a hot, healthy meal on the table with as little effort as possible. Hence the Budget-Saver Meat Pie! Basically meatloaf topped with mashed potatoes. Nothing says "victory" like mashed potatoes.

But, maybe I'm missing the point here. You see, today we're in the midst of our own war. We've been in the midst of it for almost two decades now and the only thing on the horizon seems to be escalation as all the Middle East unravels and the Russians start putting their toe in to test the temperature. All the while we're still fixated on football, food, and the fakery of reality television. We don't share the pains of war, not even in the slightest, so why should we care to avoid it? It's become something that happens over there and involves a bunch of poor kids and immigrants in uniform. Nothing the privileged classes should worry about, we just have another helping of lotus and sleep on while others bleed.

So, maybe this Thanksgiving we should omit the turkey. Maybe this year we should send it to the troops or the impoverished or the refugees who've lost everything to conflict and hatred. Maybe we should set an empty platter in the center of the table, warmed for the day when we can truly be thankful that the war has ended and the families who've been torn apart by these conflicts can sit together around their own tables in their own homes.

Thanksgiving Dinner - Jello

Jello, bane of school lunches, wiggly wrong on the dinner table, it's hard to imagine gelatin as a special treat during the holidays as General Foods would have you believe in this 1945 ad. Then there are the flavor combinations, harbingers of the horrifying aspics that would show up in the 1950's. Ever envision combining cinnamon toast with chocolate pudding? How about butterscotch and peppermint candy?

To me, the most interesting part of this ad is the little statement down in the lower left corner. "When the sugar shortage eases..." In 1945, even with the war at its end, rationing hadn't stopped. The American consumer was waiting for the salad years, waiting for the time when the world's larder would reopen and everyone could have Jello pudding.

Thanksgiving Dinner - Hunts Catsup

Ketchup or catsup? My first instinct when writing the word is to use catsup, and I can't really tell you why. Both words mean the same thing, a spicy/sweet sauce made from ripe tomatoes, so what's the difference? Well, when you get right down to it, there really aren't any.

Both ketchup and catsup trace their origin to the mangling of a Chinese term for fish sauce: ke-tsiap. As the condiment migrated through southeast Asia it's name was localized and when 17th century English sailors took to the sauce, the name was further anglicized to compensate for sounds that simply didn't work for the Anglo palate. In the 1800's you could point to the fact that British English speakers were more likely to use the "ketchup" spelling while American English speakers most commonly used "catsup".

Those of you who are fans of Mad Men may have seen the episode featuring a fake sales pitch to Heinz promoting changing the spelling to ketchup in order to differentiate the product in the eyes of US consumers. While that meeting was fictional, according to a Slate interview:

"Henry John Heinz first brought his product to market as “Heinz Tomato Catsup,” but changed the spelling early on to distinguish it from competitors. Del Monte did not switch spellings until 1988, after it became clear that ketchup was the spelling of choice for American consumers. Hunt’s switched the name of their product from catsup to ketchup significantly earlier."

So, at least according to the sources I can find, if you say "ketchup" is right you've got corporate America behind you. If you choose "catsup", well you're an old school rebel and here's to you!

Halloween Candy - Life Savers

A rare 1940's ad for Life Savers as a conversation starter at the masquerade ball. Mini Life Saver rolls were a standard in our Halloween hauls, kind of chum left until the last.